here goes.
the many paths of my life have been converging lately. some paths are beginning, some ending. from taking my first trip *home* in twenty-five years to my dad's birth village, to closing doors that have been propped open for too long with the hope someone will find his way home, to anticipating the much-needed change of pace/perspective come autumn. things have been starting to make sense lately. i've been trying to let the pieces fall, like breathing, into place.
i've never been so good with the virtual life thing. not only do i have a hard enough time keeping track of my realtime self, but my life has always been sort of analog. i don't watch television; have trouble with remotes; never owned a digital camera. i realized the other day that there's hardly proof of my life the past three years in pictures. kinda feel like marty mcfly. but i don't play the guitar so i should be okay. i think i have been sort of in chrysalis stage lately, but these days i have been craving flight. buki cole and free radical say it best: when you fall, there are moments when you can learn to fly. this is the year of me.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
moments when you can learn to fly.
wham bam thank you fam.
these days.
knitting these days / together
with the click
of aluminum needles
illuminated by late night
television--David Letterman,
Night Court, the news--nothing
new to my lola, who'd hardly look up
from the scarf or hat spilling out
of her hands.
tucked in next to her in the bed,
the rhythm of her hands keeping
a steady tick click tick of knitting,
i'd watch the figures on our snowy
television, thinking
if my parents only knew how late
lola let us stay up.
these days i knit / late
in the night, can't stand
television.
i want to know /my hands
are connected
to the same scarf the same
hat that spilled forth from
my lola's hands.
i want to create / the same
warmth of snuggling under
a blanket with her, the same
memory that i can wrap around
my shoulders like the last time
i embraced her
her calling out my niece's name
who was the same age then that i was
living with my lola growing up
maybe i should / teach
my niece the same rhythm
the same tick click tick
the same pintig
of these hands.
with the click
of aluminum needles
illuminated by late night
television--David Letterman,
Night Court, the news--nothing
new to my lola, who'd hardly look up
from the scarf or hat spilling out
of her hands.
tucked in next to her in the bed,
the rhythm of her hands keeping
a steady tick click tick of knitting,
i'd watch the figures on our snowy
television, thinking
if my parents only knew how late
lola let us stay up.
these days i knit / late
in the night, can't stand
television.
i want to know /my hands
are connected
to the same scarf the same
hat that spilled forth from
my lola's hands.
i want to create / the same
warmth of snuggling under
a blanket with her, the same
memory that i can wrap around
my shoulders like the last time
i embraced her
her calling out my niece's name
who was the same age then that i was
living with my lola growing up
maybe i should / teach
my niece the same rhythm
the same tick click tick
the same pintig
of these hands.
moments when you can learn to fly.
No comments:
Post a Comment